TO DARJEELING: APRIL 1
The road winds all the way down through broad leaf forest and all the way up to clipped tea gardens part hidden in layers of mist or low-lying cloud, hairpin turn after hairpin turn, harsh chill down to soggy sweat and back to chill. In Europe the road would be considered single track. Here jeeps squeeze by each other. No busses. Meet a truck and one or other driver pulls to the narrow verge. The drop is only a few hundred feet and is seldom sheer. Imagine rolling down through emerald tea bushes. Not fun but interesting - and probably not fatal. Tin-roof cottages are little bigger than a normal living-room back home. Village shops are smaller. Shiny packets of crisps hang above a tiny counter, open sacks of rice and millet, cigarettes, biscuits, a few bottles of soft drinks. The wind is less than yesterday. The nagging pain in my chest is the same as are the women carrying huge baskets supported on a head band. They respond to my Hi or Namaste with such open smiles, so un-Indian. Old men in wool hats salute with raised hands and flash pink gums. Old? I am probably older. It promises to be a good day...
Showing posts with label Neora Valley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Neora Valley. Show all posts
Thursday, April 22, 2010
WIZENED ELF IN GOLDEN RUBBER BOOTS
NEORA VALLEY: APRIL 1
Goodbye to Uttam Paul and the wizened elf in golden rubber boots. Rain fell in the night. The track will be slippery. Having ridden it once, I have nothing to prove. Sensible to load the bike into the pick-up. Comfort is nil: bounce, bounce, bounce.
Walking would be pure pleasure.
We meet an Indian biker/film maker at the track's junction with the road. He films us unloading the bike and I talk to camera – the usual stuff. Why I ride a small Honda: reliability, fuel consumption, light-weight maneuverability. And that there is nothing remarkable in what I do. Millions of people ride a bike to work each morning. All I do is ride further.
Enough talk, get in the saddle: Brmmm, Brmmm...
Goodbye to Uttam Paul and the wizened elf in golden rubber boots. Rain fell in the night. The track will be slippery. Having ridden it once, I have nothing to prove. Sensible to load the bike into the pick-up. Comfort is nil: bounce, bounce, bounce.
Walking would be pure pleasure.
We meet an Indian biker/film maker at the track's junction with the road. He films us unloading the bike and I talk to camera – the usual stuff. Why I ride a small Honda: reliability, fuel consumption, light-weight maneuverability. And that there is nothing remarkable in what I do. Millions of people ride a bike to work each morning. All I do is ride further.
Enough talk, get in the saddle: Brmmm, Brmmm...
MELODRAMATIC OLD MAN
NEORA VALLEY: APRIL 1
Pale daylight seeps round the curtains as I pad to the bathroom for the fourth time in the night. Fresh out of bed my balance is never good. My spine and ankles and the knuckle on my right index-finger hurt. Back to bed and I cuddle under the duvets – a few minutes to 5 a.m. and not much hope of getting back to sleep. I face a long ride through the mountains to Darjeeling and wish that I wasn't so tired. This journey has been too much for me. Just this once I'm writing the truth: that I'm scared of failure and scared of suffering some sort of physical collapse. I am 77 years old and having to get up in the night is standard. So are the painful joints. They don't matter. The heart scares me. I intend to keep going of course. I'll enjoy the journey most of the time. It is a great experience. But the fear is there and this wretched exhaustion. Enough of this melodramatic self-indulgence. I'll be scaring my children – that's if they read this Blog. Open the curtains and watch the dawn mist smoke through the trees; hot shower, drag on a thick jumper and sit out on the porch. The Neora Valley is a Wild Life Sanctuary and birds are abundant – though I can't name any. Ignorant Old Man...
Pale daylight seeps round the curtains as I pad to the bathroom for the fourth time in the night. Fresh out of bed my balance is never good. My spine and ankles and the knuckle on my right index-finger hurt. Back to bed and I cuddle under the duvets – a few minutes to 5 a.m. and not much hope of getting back to sleep. I face a long ride through the mountains to Darjeeling and wish that I wasn't so tired. This journey has been too much for me. Just this once I'm writing the truth: that I'm scared of failure and scared of suffering some sort of physical collapse. I am 77 years old and having to get up in the night is standard. So are the painful joints. They don't matter. The heart scares me. I intend to keep going of course. I'll enjoy the journey most of the time. It is a great experience. But the fear is there and this wretched exhaustion. Enough of this melodramatic self-indulgence. I'll be scaring my children – that's if they read this Blog. Open the curtains and watch the dawn mist smoke through the trees; hot shower, drag on a thick jumper and sit out on the porch. The Neora Valley is a Wild Life Sanctuary and birds are abundant – though I can't name any. Ignorant Old Man...
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
SUBSERVIENT SPECIES
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
The three couples from Kolkata represent a pleasant facet of India's economic success –anti TV, anti computer games, pro wild life, pro ecology. Sad that this attitude isn't more prevalent. Mid-age with young children, they explore, on holiday, the less known and less developed areas of India – mountains, nature reserves, wild life sanctuaries, temples and fortresses less visited and difficult to reach. Their advice is to explore the North East States. When I write of their advice I write of the three men. The women remain separate, care for the kids, talk amongst themselves, return to their cabins. A subservient species? What do I know? I am merely an observer.
The three couples from Kolkata represent a pleasant facet of India's economic success –anti TV, anti computer games, pro wild life, pro ecology. Sad that this attitude isn't more prevalent. Mid-age with young children, they explore, on holiday, the less known and less developed areas of India – mountains, nature reserves, wild life sanctuaries, temples and fortresses less visited and difficult to reach. Their advice is to explore the North East States. When I write of their advice I write of the three men. The women remain separate, care for the kids, talk amongst themselves, return to their cabins. A subservient species? What do I know? I am merely an observer.
QUALITIES SADLY MISTAKEN FOR WEAKNESS
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
Stone steps bordered by ferns and bamboo lead to the dinning hall on a higher terrace. Orchids droop between the rocks of the retaining walls. Three further cabins are occupied by holidaying families from Kolkata. The cabins have mezzanines and sleep four. Uttam Paul designed the buildings and oversaw construction by local villagers. His father was a doctor on a tea estate. Uttam married locally and has a house in Lava. He is a neat trim man in his early fifties and speaks quietly and strikes me as both gentle and thoughtful – qualities sadly mistaken for weakness in our modern culture. Uttam is tough minded and a stubborn and dedicated fighter and worker for his community and ecology.
Stone steps bordered by ferns and bamboo lead to the dinning hall on a higher terrace. Orchids droop between the rocks of the retaining walls. Three further cabins are occupied by holidaying families from Kolkata. The cabins have mezzanines and sleep four. Uttam Paul designed the buildings and oversaw construction by local villagers. His father was a doctor on a tea estate. Uttam married locally and has a house in Lava. He is a neat trim man in his early fifties and speaks quietly and strikes me as both gentle and thoughtful – qualities sadly mistaken for weakness in our modern culture. Uttam is tough minded and a stubborn and dedicated fighter and worker for his community and ecology.
NOT BAD FOR A CAMP
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
I write this on a bench on the log cabin's porch. The driver squats on the outer edge of the car park parapet (dead drop for ever), mobile phone to his ear – calling his wife of course. How is the baby? Villages the far side of the steep valley are a thin scattering of tin roofs on terraced patches of darker green amidst broad-leaf trees. Look beyond to snow caps tinted with gold by the evening sun. There lie the Natula and Gelepla Passes into Nepal and Tibet.
I write this on a bench on the log cabin's porch. The driver squats on the outer edge of the car park parapet (dead drop for ever), mobile phone to his ear – calling his wife of course. How is the baby? Villages the far side of the steep valley are a thin scattering of tin roofs on terraced patches of darker green amidst broad-leaf trees. Look beyond to snow caps tinted with gold by the evening sun. There lie the Natula and Gelepla Passes into Nepal and Tibet.
NEAR PERFECT MATTRESS
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
Help Tourism's local director/partner, Uttam Paul, greets me with a silk saffron scarf and glass of locally brewed liquor that tastes of blackberries and is probably lethal. A flagstone footpath and stone steps lead to the comfortable porch of a one-bedroom log cabin. Within lies total luxury: polished wood floors, double bed with top sheet folded over blankets and duvet, near perfect mattress, small dressing-room, bathroom with steam-hot water, thick towels. My only comment, Wow!
Help Tourism's local director/partner, Uttam Paul, greets me with a silk saffron scarf and glass of locally brewed liquor that tastes of blackberries and is probably lethal. A flagstone footpath and stone steps lead to the comfortable porch of a one-bedroom log cabin. Within lies total luxury: polished wood floors, double bed with top sheet folded over blankets and duvet, near perfect mattress, small dressing-room, bathroom with steam-hot water, thick towels. My only comment, Wow!
WALKER'S BLISS
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
That last, Not really, is untrue. Forget the road as dry boulder-strewn river bed. The straight stretches give magical glimpses of the valley between giant conifers. Ferns cascade from the uphill side of the track; rocks cocooned in moss, crystal clear rivulets; palest of pale-yellow butterflies chase each other, scent of leaf mold and pine tar – twelve kilometers of walker's bliss! Even the bad bits can't be that bad if a septuagenarian can handle them on a small bike. The turn to the camp is on the right under one of those square archways. The final ascent to the parking lot is near vertical mud. I don't do mud. Nor does the Honda. We get three quarters of the way up before beginning to slip backwards. Add two-villager power and we make it. A wizened elf shod in gold rubber boots grabs my bags out of the pick-up. What is a camp? What will I find? Presumably one or other end of cold-water basic...
That last, Not really, is untrue. Forget the road as dry boulder-strewn river bed. The straight stretches give magical glimpses of the valley between giant conifers. Ferns cascade from the uphill side of the track; rocks cocooned in moss, crystal clear rivulets; palest of pale-yellow butterflies chase each other, scent of leaf mold and pine tar – twelve kilometers of walker's bliss! Even the bad bits can't be that bad if a septuagenarian can handle them on a small bike. The turn to the camp is on the right under one of those square archways. The final ascent to the parking lot is near vertical mud. I don't do mud. Nor does the Honda. We get three quarters of the way up before beginning to slip backwards. Add two-villager power and we make it. A wizened elf shod in gold rubber boots grabs my bags out of the pick-up. What is a camp? What will I find? Presumably one or other end of cold-water basic...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
FUN? NOT REALLY...
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
And upward...
The small mountain town of Lava is dominated by a modern monastery. The track to Help Tourism's camp is to the right on the final bend before the village. The manager assures me that the track is very bad, better take the bike in the pick-up. As if I can't cope...I'll show him.
The track runs along the side of the mountain through a magnificent pine forest. The first few hundred meters are compressed dirt, easy. Turn a bend and I face a climb over large smooth river stones, first gear, bumpity bump bump bump. The stones kick the front wheel. Stay loose is the secret. Let the bike pick its own way as you would with a horse. A smooth stretch follows then more stones and a steep decent with a sharp bend. Imagine a mountain stream without water. Down hill is always worst. Put both feet down, you lose the rear break and begin to slide. Grab the front break and you're on your butt. So, however scared, you have to keep going - which isn't easy when faced with a 160 degree bend. The camp is twelve kilometers down the track. Twelve kilometers of and ninety minutes - enough time to get accustomed to the conditions and gain faith in your ability and the bike's ability. Fun? Not really...
And upward...
The small mountain town of Lava is dominated by a modern monastery. The track to Help Tourism's camp is to the right on the final bend before the village. The manager assures me that the track is very bad, better take the bike in the pick-up. As if I can't cope...I'll show him.
The track runs along the side of the mountain through a magnificent pine forest. The first few hundred meters are compressed dirt, easy. Turn a bend and I face a climb over large smooth river stones, first gear, bumpity bump bump bump. The stones kick the front wheel. Stay loose is the secret. Let the bike pick its own way as you would with a horse. A smooth stretch follows then more stones and a steep decent with a sharp bend. Imagine a mountain stream without water. Down hill is always worst. Put both feet down, you lose the rear break and begin to slide. Grab the front break and you're on your butt. So, however scared, you have to keep going - which isn't easy when faced with a 160 degree bend. The camp is twelve kilometers down the track. Twelve kilometers of and ninety minutes - enough time to get accustomed to the conditions and gain faith in your ability and the bike's ability. Fun? Not really...
Friday, April 16, 2010
JEEP GEYSERS
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
The underfed driver parks the pick-up at a road side shrine - not to pray but to lift the hood on a mini geyser. Brave, I peek down the mountainside. Four women pick tea on the near precipice. Do they never suffer from vertigo? At least they are sheltered from the wind that whips over the crest. Wind in mountains is always scary. The driver removes the radiator cap and rests the engine five minutes before adding water. I drag a thick jumper from my backpack. Onward and upward...
The underfed driver parks the pick-up at a road side shrine - not to pray but to lift the hood on a mini geyser. Brave, I peek down the mountainside. Four women pick tea on the near precipice. Do they never suffer from vertigo? At least they are sheltered from the wind that whips over the crest. Wind in mountains is always scary. The driver removes the radiator cap and rests the engine five minutes before adding water. I drag a thick jumper from my backpack. Onward and upward...
FAT QUACK AND WIFE
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
A grossly fat couple enter the chai shop. He is a doctor and boastful that his weekly visits to these uplands are an act of charity. His wife waddles behind the counter and helps herself to a packet of biscuits. The chai-shop daughter serves them bowls of vegetables and dhal, plates heaped high with rice. The fat couple stuff their faces and leave without paying. As for us, down and down and down to a river gorge and a narrow village where tour agencies advertise white water rafting. We cross a bridge and back track along the river. White water foams through the gorge. Two inflatable boats rest on a gravel spit. Tourists exchange tales of valour. How do I know? Been there, done that – though in Ecuador.
A grossly fat couple enter the chai shop. He is a doctor and boastful that his weekly visits to these uplands are an act of charity. His wife waddles behind the counter and helps herself to a packet of biscuits. The chai-shop daughter serves them bowls of vegetables and dhal, plates heaped high with rice. The fat couple stuff their faces and leave without paying. As for us, down and down and down to a river gorge and a narrow village where tour agencies advertise white water rafting. We cross a bridge and back track along the river. White water foams through the gorge. Two inflatable boats rest on a gravel spit. Tourists exchange tales of valour. How do I know? Been there, done that – though in Ecuador.
FREE WOMEN AND MOMOS
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
I have escaped the harsh heat of India's plains. Wisps of thin cloud or mist drift across the narrow road. Time to pull on waterproof over-trousers and a light wind-cheater. We stop at a tin and brick shack. A woman serves us sweet milk tea and momos (stuffed crescent-shaped dumplings) steamed by her mother on a wood fire. The women are of a different culture to those of the south. No humility here. These women own themselves, freedom apparent in every movement and in the openness of their smiles and chatter.
I urge the driver of our pick-up to eat more. He is thin, young, married a year, first child born. His wife teaches in a private primary school – monthly salary 1500 Rupees. The driver earns 3000 Rupees plus 100 daily for food when away from home. A monthly family income of 40 pounds Stirling, little wonder that he is under-weight.
I have escaped the harsh heat of India's plains. Wisps of thin cloud or mist drift across the narrow road. Time to pull on waterproof over-trousers and a light wind-cheater. We stop at a tin and brick shack. A woman serves us sweet milk tea and momos (stuffed crescent-shaped dumplings) steamed by her mother on a wood fire. The women are of a different culture to those of the south. No humility here. These women own themselves, freedom apparent in every movement and in the openness of their smiles and chatter.
I urge the driver of our pick-up to eat more. He is thin, young, married a year, first child born. His wife teaches in a private primary school – monthly salary 1500 Rupees. The driver earns 3000 Rupees plus 100 daily for food when away from home. A monthly family income of 40 pounds Stirling, little wonder that he is under-weight.
TWO ROADS TO DARJEELING
NEORA VALLEY: MARCH 31
Two roads lead from Siliguri to Darjeeling. The direct route passes through Kurseong. We take the westerly road that climbs close to the Nepalese border. The beginnings are a gentle climb through almost flat tea gardens. Women pickers wade waist-deep amongst the deep emerald bushes. Shade trees guard the lanes to tea factories and manager's bungalows. We cross and recross the narrow gauge railway that takes Darjeeling's toy train north from Siliguri. Then up and up and up...
Two roads lead from Siliguri to Darjeeling. The direct route passes through Kurseong. We take the westerly road that climbs close to the Nepalese border. The beginnings are a gentle climb through almost flat tea gardens. Women pickers wade waist-deep amongst the deep emerald bushes. Shade trees guard the lanes to tea factories and manager's bungalows. We cross and recross the narrow gauge railway that takes Darjeeling's toy train north from Siliguri. Then up and up and up...
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